


last time i saw you, we had just split in two

by pelvicbones



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU!Season Four, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Background Relationships, Bellamy Blake & Raven Reyes Friendship, But also not, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jasper Jordan Lives, M/M, Mentions of Finn and Lexa - Freeform, Multi, Season/Series 04, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates, TiMER AU i guess, abundant angst, but also fluff, but canon-compliant long-winded monologues, clearly i've never tagged xx, i live for, i was too lazy to tag all the background relationships so, or not?!!, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelvicbones/pseuds/pelvicbones
Summary: Clarke laughs, “Seriously, Bell? The end of the world is coming in less than six months and you want to talk about soulmates?”/It's the end of the world, everyone is obsessed with the prospect of soulmates, and Bellamy Blake is in the throes of an existential crisis.





	last time i saw you, we had just split in two

**Author's Note:**

> welp, fuck me, hello!! it’s been three years since i wrote a fanfic, first time posting here, and i came bearing a ~SOULMATE~ fic of all things. promised myself I’d never write one, but here the fuck we are: i introduce to you this philosophical land mine rife with canon-compliant long-winded monologues from the gang. welcome back I guess??? title is from the origin of love from hedwig and the angry inch.  
warnings: scene depiction of a panic attack (#teampanic), exclusionary conversations surrounding timer technology (dw, my polyamorous homies, i got you).  
BoRiNG sHit: mentioned in tags, but canon-divergent after season three. (the whole gang got the frick out of Polis!!) tried to maintain some details from season four and future seasons (raven’s timer (hahahaa who gives a fuck about that relationship tbh)), but i’m ~disgusting~ and watched this whole show in a week, so 100%%% missed things.  
also, i know aristophanes’ myth is more complicated than i summarized (head!canon bellamy would probably shank me and i would still be dtf), but probably no one else has been required/intrigued enough to write, like, fifteen papers about symposium. (if you do care, you should listen/watch origin of love from hedwig and the angry inch or, like, read a fucking book (symposium) and learn how much ancient philosophers love to talk about fucking other dudes – and love, i guess.)  
dedication: thank u, insomnia and coffee for helping me dedicate hours to watching this fucking show, writing this, nd dying with this ship. shout out to kimya dawson for “tire swing,” which is weirdly the perfect song to write to. thnx grammarly for telling me i use actually too much. finally, a BIG fuck u jason for making me a fucking clown and forcing to rewrite ya damn show. can’t wait to literally scream at every wasted opportunity during season seven!!

When Raven suggests they go to Becca’s lab after the latest disaster at Polis, Bellamy thinks nothing of it. It makes sense to check it out, loot what can be useful for the latest apocalypse, and, maybe, Bellamy just needs a break from Clarke’s unwaveringly stoic face, okay? So, what he wasn’t expecting was Raven pulling out a bin full of small, gray displays that may fuck up his life a just little more.

“What are these?” he asks her, inspecting one. “Are they like our old wristbands? Used to track biometrics or something?”

When Raven doesn’t answer, he turns to find her situated on the floor deeply immersed in reading a stack of accompanying notes. He sits beside her, tapping his knees to entertain himself while she skims. He’s nervous to be here and his anxious energy almost makes him start thinking about things he pushes into the depths of his mind – but Raven breaks the silence with a sharp laugh. He flinches.

“Well, fuck,” she laughs. His heart leaps to his throat in anticipation. “Becca’s done it again.”

“What are they?” he asks excitedly, grabbing at the papers. “Lemme see.”

Raven snatches the papers to her chest, then grabs a display from the bin. The look she gives it only makes him more impatient for answers. Her eyes are all curiosity and intrigue and her mouth is parted – the type of look she only gets when she’s thoroughly impressed by some tech.

“How do I explain? They’re like… Like… They confirm soulmate matches.” She uses her fingers to mime quotes around soulmates. “I’d explain the science, but I doubt you care and it’s kind of complicated.” He rolls his eyes while she keeps toying with the display in her hands. “Basically, you implant them in your wrist and, if the person also has one, they start to count down to the moment you’ll meet them.”

Bellamy lets out a bark of a laugh, shocking Raven out of technology-induced lust, “So, completely useless to us.” He stands up from the ground, grabs the lid to the bin, but before he can shut the bin and shove it in the ‘nah’ pile, Raven puts her hand over his.

“Don’t you think,” she starts cautiously, “That these could be… You know, boost morale at camp?”

He blinks at her, “Do you really think that anyone is going to willingly slap on something Becca created after all of the shit we just went through?”

“Well, maybe?” Raven shrugs, “The science makes sense and… it doesn’t seem like A.L.I.E. It’s not like she was trying to fix the world with these. Maybe she was just trying to make people happy. She wasn’t _evil_.”

“I don’t trust it,” he says, mind made up. “I don’t want to risk another City of Light debacle when the world is ending.” Bellamy grabs the lid again, “Anyway, it’s just another distraction.”

Raven sighs, pulls her knees up to her chest as he shuts the bin and pushes it to the side, “You know, most people don’t consider love a distraction.”

He looks at her somewhat cryptically as images play in his brain – Clarke’s hands covered in blood as she walks toward them, war paint spread like tears, Jasper drunkenly hitting the floor, Clarke’s face whenever someone references Lexa – and says too quietly, “Well, maybe we wouldn’t keep losing if they did.”

After that, they continue to sort through Becca’s things in silence until the others call down that they should head back to camp. Everyone grabs the bins Bellamy and Raven have decided to bring back, loads them onto the Rover, and Bellamy tries to forget the whole thing.

Until the next day, where he sees the flash of grey on Raven’s wrist. It flashes the time at him. _Six years, eleven months, seven days, and twenty-four minutes_.

She only shrugs when he glares at her, “Seems like, somehow, there are other people who got their hands on these.” He suddenly feels his stomach lurch in discomfort when she gently slides her fingertips over the display, softly adding, “At least there’s hope that _someone_ will survive the end of the world.”

It isn’t long before he starts noticing grey monitors on people’s wrists. Most of them are blank, due to their novelty, but a lucky few have countdowns that range from weeks to centuries. Bellamy is justifiably pissed at Raven for a bit. The timers, the name dubbed by Raven, are all people can talk about when they’re not, you know, talking about the end of the world. He rolls at his eyes every time he hears the word “soulmate” when walking through camp and propositions a new drinking game to Jasper who, to his credit, claims he isn’t trying to die of alcohol poisoning just yet. But, despite all his reservations and irritation, Bellamy starts to notice that no one’s work is affected by the timers. In fact, they seem to be _encouraging _people to work harder to seal the ship and find alternative solutions to survive. It pisses him off, a little, but the rapid progress makes Clarke break her mask and smile for the first time in a few days, so he can’t be too mad.

One day, as he’s watching people finish the last touches to a wall – a project that was estimated to take weeks, not _days_ – Raven saddles up beside him, giving him a small, somehow loving smirk.

“See?” she says, clapping along with the crowd as the last screw is drilled in. “Not a distraction.”

He looks at her timer, watches as her countdown sheds another minute, and exhales a long sigh, “We’ll see.”

It’s not like everyone is frantically lining up outside Raven’s workshop to get a timer. Kane and Abby seem perfectly content without needing some technological affirmation that they made the right choice. He doesn’t even bother asking Murphy and Emori. Octavia seems apathetic, albeit sad about the whole situation. (_I already know it would stay blank_. She pats him on the shoulder and returns to training.) His friends who have already partnered up seem like they’re intrigued, but reluctant to potentially ruin their existing relationships.

Monty does ask him, once, if he should get one. Bellamy gives him a curious look and Monty taps out a pattern on the table, “I love Harper, but – I just hate _not knowing,_ you know?”

Bellamy doesn’t get it, but he nods stiffly out of kindness. He offers some lame affirmation and Monty is back to smiling.

It isn’t until one night, when Bellamy is so sick and tired of all the bullshit that he hits the bar with Jasper, that he starts to actually the timers could be good for people.

Jasper is, per usual, more than a few drinks deeper than Bellamy and babbling about something inane when he suddenly blurts, “What if I was wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

Jasper looks into his cup, “I mean… I just accepted that it was over, you know? After Maya died, I thought – okay, this is it. I’m going to roll the credits early and maybe I’ll finally get some peace, you know? Maybe we’ll get to be with each other on the other side.” Jasper takes another gulp before he continues, “But what if I was wrong? What if she was just _one_ of the loves of my life and there’s someone else I’m supposed to be fighting for?”

Bellamy doesn’t know how to answer him, so decides to uncharacteristically keep ordering drinks until the world starts to blur around him.

While he’s talked to everyone else (almost incessantly) about the subject, he still doesn’t know how to broach the subject with Clarke. It seems trite to bring up when she’s working so hard, so singularly focused on saving them all. He knows that she needs his full attention on Praimfaya (he finally gets it – she _needs_ him, okay?), but he can’t help getting stuck on thinking about this whole situation. Most nights, he’ll stay awake thinking how crazy it is that they’ve all been fighting for their right to live on a planet that is about to negate the whole point of all that fighting in one fell swoop and people are focusing on if they’re going to meet the love of their life. Most of those nights, before he finally gives in to exhaustion, he’ll trip over the grim possibility that they’ll probably never meet their “soulmates” before they die or how people are so optimistic even after life has tried to harden them time and time again.

He keeps pushing it away, deeper and deeper: meets Clarke to plan, goes to the bar to drink a more than usual, tries to repair the strain with Octavia, even smokes a little with Monty who still looks like he’s constantly thinking – rinse and repeat. And he should’ve guessed it, but his coping mechanism ends up biting in the ass when he goes to the bar one night and finds Jasper, surprisingly more sober than usual. He extends his wrist for Bellamy to get a good look and there it is – a timer with a countdown. _Fifteen hours and sixteen minutes_. What fucks Bellamy up so much is the way Jasper is looking at it – there’s still the dependable grief in Jasper’s eyes, still a little drunkenness evident in his mouth, but there’s also something new. Definitely shock, but also something like solace, a little like hope. Monty’s been giving every ounce of love and support he has in him to shake Jasper out of his depression, Harper has stuck her fingers down Jasper’s throat more times than anyone wants to think about, and it takes a fucking piece of metal to resurface a little bit of the Jasper they used to know.

So, after a stiff drink post-Jasper’s reveal, he finally goes to Clarke’s room. She’s been constantly working since Polis, constantly running between meetings: always strategizing, brainstorming, getting updates. He can count the times they’ve talked about anything else on one hand and, usually, the conversations revolve on her lack of sleep – which is the first thing he brings up when she opens her bedroom door to invite him in.

She swats at the air like she can get him to _not_ care in one motion, and smiles that smile only Clarke can manage – affectionate and, somehow, both stiff and focused. “I’ll sleep when I figure out how to save the world.” She stops in thought before adding, “Or dead.”

She catches his disapproving, sharp inhale, “I’m kidding, Bellamy.”

“You need to sleep, Clarke,” he says, voice shaking on the edge of a plea. It seems easier to focus on the immediate issue than to casually say, _hey, the world we know could be over tomorrow, but isn’t it fucking weird that everyone is focusing on soulmates because some crazy genius who almost killed us also created some weird technology we’re supposed to buy into?_

As usual, she shrugs him off, but her smile is still there – the slant of her mouth starting to lean more affectionately. It’s unbearably comforting and slightly unnerving, so he drops his scolding and smiles too. Taps her temple where her hair is beginning to frizz and adds, “We need this brain at full capacity if we’re going to make it, right?”

She rolls her eyes, smile still there, steady, “More like Raven’s, but fine. I’ll try to rest.” Immediately after finishing her sentence, she picks up more papers from her desk and laughs when he gives her a disapproving look. She rolls her eyes again but concedes, dropping the papers back in their place, “Did you need anything else or did you just drop by to lecture me?”

“Uh,” he starts. “Well, it’s kind of stupid, now. It’s just that – have you noticed all this weird stuff going on?”

Her eyebrows raise, “You mean the world ending? Because, yeah, I’ve noticed.” She extends her hand to the pile of plans and papers on her desk, “Hence the non-sleep.”

“No, not that. The other stuff,” he says, vaguely. “The timer stuff.”

She laughs, “Seriously, Bell? The end of the world is coming in less than six months and you want to talk about soulmates?”

He stutters out, “I don’t want to talk about _soulmates_, per se. I just was wondering what you thought.” She crosses her arms tightly across her chest and the motion makes him draw a blank on what to say. “You know, like – Becca almost ended the world _again_ before, well, this end of the world and now we’re supposed to believe she can predict who we’re supposed to be with?”

Clarke’s mouth twists as she processes and his heart threatens to crawl out of his mouth and present itself at her feet for a reason he can’t place his finger on.

“Well,” she says, head leaning to the side in thought, “I mean, I don’t believe she can do that.”

Again, he can’t figure out why, but he finds himself gulping in air, “You don’t?”

“No,” she says decisively. “Maybe I would’ve before – maybe back on the Ark.” She bites her lip, “But now… now, I don’t think I believe in soulmates, much that someone, even if they were a super genius, could prove that there is only _one_ person in the world for you.”

He can’t help but wonder if Clarke doesn’t believe because Lexa is gone. It’s weird, but the thought makes him feel like she’s just taken a knife and slid it into his ribs. But he recovers, or at least, talks through the imaginary pain, and laughs a strangled laugh, “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been thinking too. I thought it was worth bringing up, is all.”

She smiles up at him, oblivious to his internal monologues, “That’s because you’re smart, Bell.” She lays her hand on his shoulder, “We’re the type of people that focus on paving the way for our people. We aren’t going to sacrifice them to start thinking about the philosophy of love, or whatever.” She chuckles, “We’re too busy thinking about how we’re going to save mankind and whatnot.”

Usually, he’d agree, but there’s a voice chanting in his head, _I’m not that person and neither are you._ He tries to quiet it, but it keeps going._ Tell her about Jasper and Raven and all the other people who believe_._ You know that there’s something to it._ _Push back_.

He tries to gain some semblance that he isn’t slowly losing his mind over this whole situation and smiles weakly, “Well, we have to make sure we’re not too busy that we don’t sleep.”

She rolls her eyes again, smiling, “I got it, Bellamy. I’ll sleep.”

He feels like crawling out of his body when he awkwardly waves and says goodnight, but she doesn’t notice his discomfort at all – just waves until the door is shut behind him.

His head is pounding so hard that he doubts a restful sleep is in the cards for tonight, so he goes to Raven’s workshop. Of course, she’s still there, tinkering with something Clarke probably believes will solve everything. Bellamy sits down on one of the stools, watching her work, and tries not to throw up.

“What is it?” she asks, not raising her head from her work.

He clears his throat, “I need you to do me a favor.”

She hums somewhat dubiously, “What is it?”

“I want to know the science behind the timers. I know you weren’t going to go into it, but,” he pauses for a few moments, “I just need to know.”

Raven turns around and he catches a weird uncharacteristic softness in her eyes. It makes him feel like he’s under a microscope.

“Okay,” she agrees, putting down her tools. “It’s complex – like even _I_ initially was confused, but I’ll explain.”

They spend two hours going over the logistics: Becca’s methodology, the experiments, everything. Raven even pulls out a whiteboard at one point, excitedly drawing diagrams because, honestly, no one gives a shit about this stuff as much as she does. Through most of it, she shoos away his philosophical questions, telling him she’s only really concerned with the science. However, once she feels she’s covered most of the bases, she recognizes some of the points he’s raised.

“While I’ll kill you in your sleep if you tell anyone I said this, it’s not all about the science.” She cocks her head, scrutinizing him like he’s her lab rat, “It’s also about having a little hope.”

When he gets back to his room, he stares at the metal ceiling, trying to process all the information. He gets it now, at least to the best of his abilities, the _science _part, but he just _doesn’t_ as well. He’s not a scientist like Raven and while he usually finds himself swayed by her logic, he doesn’t quite view the whole debate like Clarke seems to. He tends to be more heart over head, has to feel it out before he can come down on a side in situations like these. He can’t get Raven’s admission that it comes down to hope to believe out of his head. Thinks of Jasper’s face while he reckoned with the reality that Maya might’ve been a person he loved, but not the _love_ he thought she was. Can’t help thinking of how that must feel – to feel so sure and then have someone or some_thing_ intervening on behalf of you to tell you were wrong. He tries to work it out in his mind – would that diminish that love you had? Would that taint the edges of your memories of being with them?

Hours later, still hopelessly awake and trying to work it over, he remembers a story his mother read him from Plato’s Symposium before Octavia was born. It was Aristophanes’ myth, his philosophy of love – that humans were originally born with two pairs of arms and legs, two faces. Humans were so whole, unflawed, that they lacked desire. Zeus recognized this as a threat, so cut them in half with a lightning rod, scattering them across the world. Apollo left wounds where they separated, which became the belly button, so they would always remember their pain. Humans were so desperate to find their other halves that they would spend their lives searching for the other and, when they finally did find each other, they would intertwine and never let go. When they began to die, unwilling to separate to eat or drink, Zeus took pity on them and moved their genitals to the front.

His mother used to smile when he asked her to tell the story. When Octavia was born, his mother claimed she forgot the plot, lost the book during a routine room inspection. And, even though he tried so hard to remember, he could never recount the story to Octavia the way his mother could. When his eyes start to force themselves shut, he starts to imagine what humans must’ve looked like, all tangled in each other like that. They’d be big blobs, bumping every which way when trying to walk. Maybe they’d even bicker or yell for hours, being so close to each other all the time – but they’d always be together, always whole, always happy in the end.

This whole quandary has fucked him up in ways he was unprepared for because he sleeps through his alarms the next day. The only thing that does wake him is the sound of loud voices. Panic ebbs any disorientation and he stumbles out of his room, expecting to open the door and find something horrible – the end of the world is already here, someone’s attacked the camp, someone he loves is wounded. But, when he finally gets outside, he realizes that people are _cheering_.

There have been one or two timers that have gone off, but he’s never actually witnessed the moment himself. From his spot in the crowd, he sees Jasper standing in the middle staring at a Grounder girl, Sonia, who had been in the infirmary since coming back with them from Polis. Bellamy has missed the initial ring off of the timers, but he’s caught the decrescendo. Bellamy can tell Jasper is wrecked, anxiously combing his hair, but Sonia is smiling shyly, propped up from crutches. Bellamy dismisses the crowd, urging them back to work, but stays to watch as Jasper finally walks up to the girl, extending his hand. It takes a bit of balance on her part, but Sonia meets his hand with a firm grip and a warm smile. Jasper looks like he might collapse.

Bellamy feels nauseous, happy, confused, scared. Doesn’t know where to go or who to talk to. Suddenly feels a weird desire that Lincoln was alive, because he always seemed wise in a silent, ancient way. Feels more nauseous for thinking about him. Wonders why the fuck he’s feeling so much and then thinks of Clarke. Thinks about her smiling at him, teasing him fondly about this dumb existential crisis he’s spun himself into. Hates that something in him, something he’s kept along with all the other things he doesn’t let himself think about, breaks as he finally _gets_ it. Gets why he’s all tangled, why he was able to remember Aristophanes’ story after all these years, why he wants to always make sure Clarke sleeps, why his heart loops in rings when Clarke is smiling or looking at him or when she gets that look in her eye when she’s got a good idea. And, _fuck_, knows why he had that dream that he looked at Clarke and the sharp sound of trilling filled his ears.

He’s pretty much screwed every which way with no way out. So, he needs logic. Needs reasoning and methodology. He makes his way to Raven’s workshop with heavy trots, head down so that people don’t see his heart oozing out of his ears.

“Reyes!” he calls shakily. “Are you here?”

A small, shaky voice echoes from somewhere in the room, “She’s – she’s leading a brainstorming session. She’ll be back in a while.”

He walks around, looking behind heavy machinery and desks, only to find a nook shrouded by a burlap curtain. Through the holes of the burlap, he sees a shimmer of blonde, the outline of a small body curled into itself. When he pulls the burlap aside, Clarke is all red-eyed and shaky, holding a timer in her hands.

Usually, when she cries, he rushes to hold her up, to make any sort of physical contact, to say something soothing or something dumb so she laughs her way out of her sad. But this feels different - like he’s an exposed wire, too charged and hot for contact. He chooses to slide his back down the frame of the closet, facing her, keeping a safe distance between their legs. For the first time in a while, he doesn’t know what to say – doesn’t have any magic words or inspirational speech at hand to make this feel better, to make her look at him like he’s looking at her. That nagging voice in his head says that this is it, this is the only action he can manage to do right now. If he touches her, he’s going to burn the both of them. If he speaks, he’s going to fuck up the only thing that he can rely on. So, the fucking _leaders_ of the new world sit silently in a closet.

Finally, when he thinks he should just give up, accept that he’s going to live the few months they have left in misery and go, she opens her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, still avoiding his gaze. “I know what I said last night. Not that – I don’t – I mean, I still think that’s what I think. I’m still not sure about this, this _thing_, but I’m sorry because I don’t want you to think I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“No, Clarke,” he pleads, “Don’t apologize, _please_.” He tries to catch her eye, but she’s resolutely staring at her hands, “I know what’s going on is a _lot_ and I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this shit. I should be focusing on what’s important. I should be helping you, not making it harder on you.”

“You’re not making it harder,” she sniffles, “_I_ am. I’m just, just – I’ve just been trying to throw myself into solving the end of the world, I guess. I just can’t stop thinking that if I don’t that we’re all going to die and… I just. I couldn’t save – I couldn’t save people before and, logically, I know I can’t save everyone, but.” Her breath starts to come in short bursts, “But I thought that if I was prepared this time, like really prepared, I could do it right this time. And, if I could do it right this time, it would be okay that we lost people in the past. We could finally all be safe and _you_ could be safe. And for me to do that, I – I had to let you think I wasn’t thinking about this stupid thing.” She rubs the timer between her fingers, “I just – I just keep thinking: what if I put this on me? What would that mean?”

Silence falls on them again and, despite the voice screaming in his head not to touch her, he nudges her leg with his slightly. “Keep going, Clarke,” he says, softly.

Her fingers press hard against the timer, fingers turning white. “If there’s a countdown, does that mean I loved Finn and Lexa any less? If – if it’s… blank… well, if it’s – what if it’s not _you_?”

“Hey,” he says softly. Tells the voice in his head to fuck off and moves to sit in front of her, leaning into her air, “Look at me.”

She keeps breathing shallowly, wiping her eyes roughly before she meets his eyes, mouth twisting, “I can’t lose you too, Bellamy.”

He reaches out to push the curtain of her hair so he can really see her, smiles at her softly, “You can’t get rid of me even if you wanted to.”

She whimpers, pulling away, “I can’t risk – if I let –“

He is electric, buzzing, “I’m already in love with you, Clarke. I don’t need anything to tell me that you’re my other half. And I – I don’t need you to feel the same way or feel like you have to get a timer to make me feel like – I just want you to know I’m going to love you anyway.”

She starts panicking more, tears falling down her cheeks. He’s too far gone at this point and moves into the space next to her, pulls her into his chest. She curls her head underneath his chin, trying to slow her breathing.

“I would never want you to think that I want to replace Finn or Lexa,” he whispers in her hair. “I love all of you. They’re always going to be part of you.”

It takes a while for her breathing to even out. She pulls one of his hands into hers when she’s calm – traces his lifelines, the blue of his veins, “You’re a part of me too.”

And if he wasn’t already absolutely sure he was in love with her, he would’ve known in the way his breath hitches at that, or the way it happens again when she curves up to look him in the eyes.

“Hey,” she says almost mockingly. Her voice softens with the ice blue of her eyes, “You’re my other half too, Bell.”

They stay there for a long time, just sitting in silence, watching each other as he strokes her hair. They’re only interrupted when Raven draws the curtains open.

“Typical,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Now, kindly, fuck off.”

Over the next few weeks, timers go off. People celebrate. Monty and Harper get theirs together after Monty finally breaks down and admits his anxieties. Their timers go off as soon as Monty’s is attached. Raven groans when Monty and Harper frantically kiss, only for her to notice, after prying their lips apart by physical force, that Monty’s has started another countdown. They try to figure it out, but it's only until Miller comes back from a hunting trip that it becomes clear- chimes sound again as soon as he sees Monty. Raven is probably the most ecstatic because she gets to add her own scientific findings to Becca’s notes, practically shoving the celebratory crowd out of her way so she can rush to her workshop. When Bellamy tells Clarke about the incident, she laughs so hard she bends into herself.

They take it slowly. Start to process what they mean to each other. Clarke still wrinkles her nose at the word ‘soulmate,’ but peppers him with kisses when she’s tired of trying to figure out how to save the world. He gets her to fall asleep by picking her up from her desk and pulling her into bed with him. Their wrists are bare, but he gets to kiss hers up to her mouth without any obstacles.

One night, while they’re working side by side, he turns at her. Her hair is a mess, she has at least two pencils behind one ear, and she’s muttering complete gibberish. He feels all the warmth in the room flood him as he reckons with the fact that when he pushes back her hair to lay a kiss on her neck, he feels her heart beat three times as fast. As he kisses her ear, he whispers, “Can I tell you the story of how humans were born?”

She rolls her eyes playfully, but sighs shakily, leaning her neck to the side so he can kiss her collarbone. “Yes, you may.”

When he’s done recounting the story, his hands are inching up her thigh and she’s smiling so brightly he can’t help but think – _that’s the end of the world right there_ – _Clarke Griffin_. And then she’s climbing into his lap, intertwining their limbs. She places her head under his head and says determinedly. “I’m not letting go.”

He almost chokes, “I guess we’re going to die then.”

“Maybe,” she says, curving up to face him, showing him a smile he hasn’t seen before. “But at least it would be with you.”

When she kisses him, messy and feverish and perfect, they’re four legs and four arms with two faces.

**Author's Note:**

> *peeks out from fingers* did i do it? did i finally finish my first bellarke fic?  
had to acknowledge clarke is probably #fragile still after lexa bc we’re in season four territory, so i think it will take a while for clarke to be fully open, but, clearly, we all kNOW she loves bellamy. (looking @ the writing team)  
rewriting canon so I can get both monty/harper and monty/miller? check. giving jasper jordan a chance to reconsider suicide? check. (gotta throw a homie a lifeboat, even if he doesn’t take it.)  
ANYWAY, I’LL SHUT UP NOW. i quit my horrible job, so expect more fics while i’m still unemployed!!1!


End file.
